Thoughts on views

Later, taking coffee in a pastitseria high on the bluff, we gazed down the length of the island, a splendid vista ranging from the mountains of Albania to the East to the southern mainland of Italy low on the western horizon. From such a vantage point I was moved to wonder to what extent the landscape before us was naturally afforested, and to what extent man-made. There are some 4 million olive trees on this island, so I presume that the landscape is indeed very much the creation of its occupants and owners. Though it is hard to discern a single road among the trees, their overall colour is a uniform blue-green, and in places there shows a regularity of placing that is too specific to be natural. Though this landscape may be man-made, it is also very ancient, changing little with each generation, save to accommodate the needs of each as they succeed the last, the occasional radio mast standing proud of the trees, or hotel occupying a cliff where once only trees and goats had a foothold.

Likewise, the architecture of the villages. Certainly, most of it predates the motor car. Streets are narrow, cobbled, wide enough to allow the passage of a couple of laden donkeys. Steeply pitched roofs with terracotta pantiles testify to the nature of the climate, and shutters both protect windows from winter storms and allow shady circulation of air in the stifling summer. Overlaying all of this diminutive charm is a modern intrusion – cables. Power lines, phone cables, wires of every conceivable nature and purpose are strung willy nilly through this townscape, across lanes, up walls and down poles, in a pragmatic but unsightly chase for the comforts of technology. Surely, the must be a more aesthetically pleasing solution than this? Or is it simply that a built landscape I find fascinating, historic, quaint and often beautiful, is for its residents simply old, cramped, awkward and unimportant?